


I (Can't) See a Light

by shnuffeluv



Category: NCIS
Genre: Dark, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitalization, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes, Whump, forced hospitalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: Timothy McGee has struggled with depression for a while now. One night, he decides enough is enough. But the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry...





	1. Chapter 1

Tim walked into the bullpen from Abby's lab, rubbing his eyes to try and erase the dryness from them; he had been staring at computer screens too long. Tony and Ziva had been talking about something, but stopped when he walked in. "Hey, guys. Long day, huh? I was wondering if either of you would be willing to come to my house with me tonight for dinner? I'm buying whatever," he said.

"Can't," Tony said. "Got a hot date with the TV and the leftover pizza that's about to go bad in my fridge."

"Ziva?" Tim asked.

Ziva made a sound between a scoff and a snort. "I've been dealing with work all day, what makes you think that I would like to prolong that?"

Tim's heart sank in his chest a little. "No reason at all. Just wanted some company. It's fine, I can always eat by myself tonight."

The two went back to whatever they were talking about in quiet tones as Tim packed up his things. He willed himself to not break down at what this meant for him. He knew if he couldn't get anyone interested in staying with him tonight, it wouldn't be pretty. But, Tony and Ziva and Abby were busy, and he didn't want to impose, and Gibbs was definitely out of the question; he'd probably feel worse because of it. So when he had all of his stuff, he walked out of the bullpen, but not before he heard Tony's words fading in the air but not quite unhearable. "Good, he's gone. Now we can say what we want."

That felt like a stab in the heart to Tim, but he swallowed and raised his chin a little higher, walking to the elevator and waiting for it to open, but not expecting to see Gibbs on the other side of the doors. "Oh, hey boss! Just leaving for the night!"

Gibbs nodded. "I can see that, McGee. We don't have a case; you don't need my permission to go home."

Tim nodded and winced. "Right, I know, boss. Sorry."

Gibbs stepped out of the elevator and Tim stepped in, feeling the blood rush to his face as he went over his words. _Could you sound any more stupid?_

"You all right, McGee?" Gibbs asked, scrutinizing him.

Tim nodded. "Fine, boss. Just fine. Really." Wait. If this was the last time he was going to talk to Gibbs, he'd better say something more. "Thanks, though. It's nice to know someone out there notices." Not what he really wanted to say, but it would have to be enough.

Gibbs looked at Tim closer until the elevator closed. He let out a shaky breath he didn't know he had been holding. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if Gibbs would care about what he did in his off-time. No one did. Not even Sarah was curious; she had her own life outside family now, and Tim didn't want her to feel obligated to visit him, so he never brought it up. Without realizing it, Tim realized he had clenched his hands into fists hard enough to draw small amounts of blood. The pain felt reassuring as it always did, but he'd have to be careful. People could see his palms and know he had scars there. Though after tonight, he supposed that wouldn't really matter. He got out of the elevator and walked to his car in the parking lot, pulling out and driving home on autopilot. He wished he had the chatter of Tony talking at him, or Ziva bickering with Tony, or even Ducky infodumping about one thing or another to distract him from his own thoughts of _useless, good for nothing, freak_. But he didn't have anyone.

That made him want to leave everything behind.

* * *

Once home, Tim hung up his coat and put everything away in its place. He didn't want anyone to think he was a slob when someone found him. Well, found his body. He had made up his mind.

Tonight was the night he was going to die.

Tim sat down at his typewriter and fed paper through it. Couldn't die without some last words, right?

_Dear Tony,_

_Despite what you will think, I didn't do this because of you. I liked the fact that you cared enough about me to actually talk to me, it was a good change of pace from Norfolk. Thanks for everything, I got to know a few good movies, and some bad ones, thanks to you._

_Dear Ziva,_

_I know you don't want to admit it, but you care about me just a little bit. I'm sorry about what you will be going through when you read this, but I just wanted to be happy, even if that meant feeling nothing ever again._

_Dear Sarah,_

_I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out like this, but over time the words got harder and harder to say, so I didn't. I hope you can forgive me._

_Dear Abby,_

_Don't be sad, please. I always liked it better when you smiled. Never stop being you, for me. Can you do that? You're the best friend I always wanted and more. Thank you._

_Dear Ducky,_

_You were a great friend and taught me many things, both related and not to crime solving. I'm glad I got to know you, even if it doesn't seem like it._

_Dear Gibbs,_

_Thank you for putting me on your team. This was the best thing that ever happened to me, even if it wasn't enough to keep me alive longer than this._

_To all of you, I'm sorry for what you'll have to go through, but I'm done with this. I hope you can forgive me._

_-Tim_

It wasn't all he wanted to say, but it would have to do. If he worked on anything longer than this, he might wind up backing down, and living another night with his mind screaming at him and telling him he wasn't of use to anybody was not an option. Tim shakily walked to his room, grabbing the razor he kept in his nightstand for nights like tonight, and went into the bathroom. He stripped down to his boxers and turned the shower head on hot, before standing under the water, the last sensation he ever wanted to feel. He sat down on the floor of the shower, taking the razor and pressing it down on his wrist until he drew blood. He gasped at the pain but forced himself to press harder until he was positive he had nicked something important, then he did the same to the other wrist. He watched as his blood mixed with the water, and in an odd sort of way, he thought it looked awfully beautiful. He watched as it swirled down the drain, and felt the hot water tap him on the skin, and lost himself in the rushing sound of water until he was half-conscious and there was a knock at the door. _No. Not tonight_ , he thought. _Tell me they didn't change their mind tonight of all nights_.

Tim didn't move to answer the door. His body would be found a bit sooner than expected, but it would still be too late. He could faintly hear someone shouting, "McGee! Open up!"

That was Gibbs. Tim swallowed. He probably did something wrong again, like always. He hoped Gibbs would figure he could just argue with him the next day. But fate had other plans. Tim lost consciousness from the rapid blood loss seconds before his front door slammed open.

* * *

Tim woke up, which in and of itself was pretty disappointing. He opened his eyes and squinted at the fluorescent lighting that greeted him. The lighting was different than the one is his bathroom was, and he didn't feel like he was lying against tile...wait. The last thing he remembered was that Gibbs was at the door.

Heart racing, Tim bolted upright as far as he could, only to find his wrists were bound to the railings on the side of the bed. Not with handcuffs, at least, he noted with a small amount of relief. He slumped back onto the mattress.

"Oh, you're awake!" an overly cheery voice said from the door.

Tim looked over to find a young man in hospital scrubs blocking his only form of escape. "Wh--"

"You worried a lot of people, man. You're lucky to be alive."

Tim scoffed at that statement. " _Bad_ luck," he rasped.

The man walked over and removed Tim's hands from the restraints on the rails. "Sorry about these, man. But we didn't know how you'd react when you woke up, and who would be in here, and we didn't want you hurting anyone, most of all yourself. You lost a lot of blood, enough to warrant a transfusion by the time they got you here."

Tim tried to say something, but the man just kept on talking. "You have a visitor, waiting outside. Don't know why he didn't wait in here, he's the one who found you. You really are a lucky guy, did you know you nicked an artery in _both_ wrists?"

"That was the _point_ ," Tim snapped.

The man stood over his bed uneasily. "Look, man, I just started my job here, and you're my first...uh..."

"Suicide attempt?" Tim finished.

"Yeah. On my own, I mean. So if you could...I dunno...ease up? On the doom and gloom?"

"Oh, yeah. Because I can _magically_ stop depression _whenever I feel like it_ ," Tim growled. "I don't want to see anyone, least of all anyone who thinks that they know what's better for me than me. Send whoever's waiting for me to wake up away."

The man nodded and walked out of the room, and Tim forced himself to roll over on his side. Why did he have to live?

"Uh...Mister McGee?"

Great. The nurse was back. Tim sighed. "What."

"The man refuses to leave. Says he has some questions for you as a federal agent? I mean...you did...and it's against the law to...so technically, I think you could have been arrested for trying to kill yourself? Is NCIS a real thing?"

Tim groaned and rolled back so he could look at the nurse. "Yeah. Unfortunately he wasn't lying. Guy's my boss. I still don't want to see him, though. Can't you put him on some sort of do-not-visit list?"

The nurse frowned. "Maybe. But if I leave to do that, he'll just walk right in, won't he?"

Tim nodded. "He's that type of guy, yeah."

The nurse bit his lip. "Can you handle seeing him once?"

Tim groaned. "Doubt it. He'll probably start yelling."

Before the nurse could say anything else, Gibbs strode into the room. "Go ahead and put me on the do-not-visit list. I'll be gone before you're finished signing the papers."

The nurse turned to Tim. "Do you want me to?"

"He'll get around the rules one way or another, so what's the point?" Tim asked. "Just continue your rounds. Good luck with your job."

The nurse gave him an uneasy smile and left.

"So," Gibbs said, sitting down in the chair next to the hospital bed. "You cut yourself."

"I thought you didn't like stating the obvious," Tim growled.

"You cut yourself _regularly_ ," Gibbs clarified. "For how long?"

Tim shrugged. "None of your business to know."

"You made it my business when you tried to kill yourself," Gibbs said evenly. "You attempted to kill a federal officer."

"Yeah? Well that federal officer hasn't wanted to live in a long, long time. Leave me alone next time I try to die."

"Useless," Gibbs said.

Tim flinched. "Care to repeat that?" he snarled.

"That's what you think of yourself? It's what I saw carved into your stomach when I was trying to stem the bleeding. You think you're useless."

Tim couldn't meet Gibbs' eyes, so he stared at the hem of the bed sheets. "Leave me alone next time. It's not like anyone _really_ cares anyway."

"There won't be a 'next time'!" Gibbs exclaimed. "You are _not_ going to try and kill yourself again!"

"You're right," Tim said. "Next time I'll just use my gun. Won’t be anything about it that’s just an ‘attempt.’"

Gibbs growled at him, and Tim flinched despite himself.

"There won't _be_ a next time," Gibbs said slowly. "Because your physician, that's Ducky, signed all the papers needed for you to head over to the psychiatric ward."

"You can't do that!" Tim exclaimed, sitting up in the bed and causing his head to swim and the room to tilt sideways.

Gibbs caught him before he could fall to the floor, and Tim berated himself, because he _should_ be able to sit up without falling over, and he shouldn't need anyone to hold him up. He leaned away and swatted at Gibbs' arms. "Don't touch me!" he hissed.

Tim missed the touch as soon as it was gone; it was the first time in a long time that he had someone care enough about him to help him, even if it was just to keep him sitting, but he couldn't let himself accept that touch. He didn't deserve it. Gibbs stood up and Tim swallowed. "Where are _you_ going?" he asked.

"To make sure everything's set up for you in the psych ward," Gibbs replied.

"You can't make me go! I refuse!" Tim exclaimed.

Gibbs turned around in the door. "Ducky already signed the papers. There's nothing you can do about it."

Tim fell back onto the mattress as soon as Gibbs was gone, and wished that he had something to hurt himself with right now. Not necessarily kill himself, not immediately, because then everyone would try and save him again. But a little bit of pain to ground him.

He fell asleep as he started to cry in frustration.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought this story was dead, hahaha!  
> ...It was. Then I wound up in a mental ward myself, a while back, and decided to recover this from the ashes. It's just a jumble of emotions, some old, some new. Either way, I'd advise everyone to not take any of this too seriously, especially since some of the nurses act very _very_ "Have You Tried Yoga?" Neurotypical TM. Eh, either way, enjoy the mess that is my emotions.

Tim woke up to someone shaking his shoulder none too lightly. He cracked his eyes open to find a scowling nurse over him. "Get up!" she barked.

"Wh--" Tim started to ask a question, but he got cut off.

"And I don't want any protests! It's idiots like you who take away resources from people who are  _ really _ sick, and it's about time that they give your bed to someone who  _ really _ needs it!"

"I didn't even want to be here," Tim grumbled as he stood out of the bed and wavered a little from the blood loss he had suffered.

The nurse grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him out of the room. He noted all the hallways they went down and what floor of the hospital they were going to, in case he got the chance to escape. When they got out on the second floor, the nurse dragged him down another hall through two double doors and up to a nurse's station. "Stay here. Someone will be here to ‘help’ you shortly," she snapped, stalking off.

Tim watched her go, before looking around. To the right of him was a rec room of sorts, behind that a dining room, and in front of him behind the nurse's station there were rows upon rows of rooms, one of which he assumed they were going to try and keep him in. He was about to make his way out when someone grabbed his wrist. "Where do you think you're going?" the voice asked.

When Tim turned around, he saw a short man who was balding slightly on the back of his head. He wasn't wearing nurses' scrubs, but a button-down shirt with a tie and dress pants. "I don't belong here," Tim said, trying to free his wrist, but that wasn't about to happen.

"You must be our new patient," the man sighed. "Timothy McGee? We talked to your physician, he said you wouldn't like this. But it's what's best for you."

Tim resisted the urge to snap at this man, and instead resolutely said nothing.

"Oh, yes, you're definitely the man Doctor Mallard was talking about." The man looked around and signaled a nurse who was talking to another patient. "Abigail! Would you show our new patient around, please?"

The nurse, Abigail, walked over with a smile. "Of course, Doctor! Right this way, Tim."

The man let go of his wrist but Abigail was now too close for Tim to make a break for it, so he reluctantly stayed by her side. "I'm Abigail, but you can call me Gale. I'm one of the nurses here. I saw you came in with Felicity, and I'm really sorry about that. She doesn't really believe in mental illnesses. Anyway, this is the nurse's station, and in front of us is the rec room. This is where we have free time activities, and group therapy. Follow me?"

Tim followed her down one of the hallways. "Here we have the rooms where you will be staying. You're inpatient, so you'll be in here for about a week, minimum. Each room is a double, so you'll be paired with someone else of the same gender. No one except the nurses, you, and your roommate are allowed in your rooms. We've had...incidents. And we don't want to repeat them. So long as you understand the rules, we should get along fine! By the dining area is our art room! Here we do art and music therapy, should you choose to join either of those activities. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are in the dining room, monitored by the nurses. Visiting hours are from noon until 7 o'clock in the evening, and lights out is at 10:30. Breakfast is at 8, and lunch at 11:30. Questions?"

"When do I get out of here?" Tim asked.

"When the good doctor says you're stable enough that you won't harm yourself or others, you'll be evaluated and we'll see if you're eligible for either outpatient or to leave provided you find a psychiatrist or therapist who can continue your treatment." Gale smiled, "First evaluation opportunity is in three days. Let me show you to your room."

Tim groaned. He had to stay here three days?! At least?! He had work to do! Were they going to replace him while he was gone? And what would Tony and Ziva say? Would they urge Gibbs to kick him off the team?

Gale lead him to a room on the right side of the hall if you were facing the nurse's station and knocked, opening the door. Tim saw a scrawny boy who couldn't have been more than 19 sitting on his bed. "Tim, this is Avery. Avery, Tim. Avery is in here for psychosis, Tim is here for attempted suicide. I'll leave you guys to it, lunch is in an hour!"

Avery looked up to Tim once Gale left. "So, suicide, huh? You see anything that make you change your mind about dying?"

Tim shook his head. "Someone found me before I was gone. I wish they had waited just a few more minutes."

Avery nodded. "I feel that. So, what do you do for a living? You don't look homeless."

Tim took a seat on the bed opposite Avery's. "I'm a federal agent," Tim said. "NCIS."

Avery nodded. "Cool. I want to go into forensic science after college," Avery said. "Took a gap year because I was hearing voices and seeing things, and it got so bad that my parents noticed, and urged me to come here to see if they could do anything about it. I've been here half a week, and the meds they have me on do some good things. I can recognize what's a hallucination and what's not, now."

Tim nodded. "Well, I guess that's good. I don't think they can fix me, though."

"Dr. Lewis does wonders, man. You just gotta give him a chance," Avery said.

The two talked until a nurse came in and led them out to the dining area so they could eat. Tim stuck close to Avery, since the boy was the only one Tim knew, and he got quite a few stares, wearing nothing but his boxers and some hospital scrubs. He flushed and spoke quietly to Avery, "Everyone's staring at my scars. What do I do?"

"Ignore 'em," Avery said with a shrug. "Those who don't mind will talk to you at the lunch tables, those who don't care one way or the other will go about their business, and the ones who mind it will continue to stare once the shock wears off, but with a scowl."

Tim shuddered but got his food, which seemed to be a standard option for people who hadn’t ordered anything beforehand, and he and Avery sat down at what Tim assumed was Avery's usual table. Immediately, a woman came over and sat next to Tim. "Suicide attempt?" she asked bluntly.

"Uh...yeah," Tim said. "Cut my wrists, but my boss found me before I could bleed out."

The woman nodded. "Amber. Real estate agent. Five days in, Rapid-Cycling Bipolar Disorder. Pleasure," she said, holding out her hand.

"Tim, federal agent, first day, obviously, depression probably and suicidal definitely. Likewise," he said, shaking her hand.

Avery smiled at him approvingly and ate his food. Tim looked at his and felt like he'd be sick if he ate it, but if he was going to live then he had to keep up his blood sugar. He forced as many bites as he could take before he pushed his tray away and rested his head in his arms on the table. He stayed that way until everyone was going about their business after lunch, and he was cornered by Dr. Lewis. "Ah, Tim. I need to talk to you."

"I'll bet," Tim snapped. "But I  _ don't _ need to talk to you."

Dr. Lewis frowned. "Tim, I would hate to sedate you but I will prescribe you sedatives if that's what it takes to get you to cooperate. Will you come to my office freely or do I need to call over a nurse?"

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.  _ Remember, you want out of this place _ . "Fine. Talk to me. But I won't talk back."

Dr. Lewis lead him to the room that was closest to the nurse’s station on the left side of the hall, and gestured for him to have a seat. Tim sat, crossing his arms and staring at a single point on the wall. Dr. Lewis sat across from him at his desk. "Now, then, Tim. I need to ask you some questions. Obviously, you have made an attempt on your life, and you had a plan with which to do it. May I ask how long you had that plan?"

Tim continued to stare at the wall.

"Tim," Lewis warned. "I can only help you if you help me."

"I don't  _ want _ to be helped, I  _ want _ to be  _ dead _ ."

Dr. Lewis leaned forward. "May I ask why?"

"Daddy didn't love me enough and Mother was never around," Tim said sarcastically. "Why does anyone want to die? They're tired of living!"

"But  _ why _ ?" Lewis pressed. "No one kills themselves without a 'why'. Just being 'tired of living,' isn't a reason. It's a breaking point. What led you to that breaking point?"

Tim looked away from Dr. Lewis. He knew exactly why, but there was no way he could share that.

"You  _ do _ want to get out of here, Tim, right? If only to try again at killing yourself? Tell me why you hit your breaking point, and we can work to get you out of here, on  _ my _ terms."

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me," Tim growled. And to him, at least, that was true.

"I might, but only if you tell me."

Tim ground his teeth. This man was making him  _ doubly _ suicidal. "Because I'm not worth the resources I use up to keep going on. I'm doing the world a service by leaving it, don't you understand? I was  _ helping _ everyone!"

Dr. Lewis sat back in his seat and nodded. "What you are feeling is not uncommon, Tim. I believe you wholeheartedly when you say that's how you reached your breaking point. However, I believe that anyone in your life would beg to disagree when you say you are useless. For now, though, I am going to prescribe you Lexipro, a common antidepressant. Now, if rather than feeling better, you start to feel worse, come to me immediately and we can change your medication. It's a common side-effect, but one that we are trying to avoid. We want you to feel better here."

"Numb sounds pretty good, which is more or less what I feel right now," Tim said. "But if you think you can get me stoned enough to not want to kill myself, go ahead."

Dr. Lewis rolled his eyes and marked something in a folder on his desk. "That's not our goal either, Tim. We want you to be a healthy, fully-functioning individual in society. Once we determine that you are not a risk to yourself or others, we can find you a therapist, if that's needed, and a psychiatrist, if you don’t want to continue seeing me, and you can leave the ward. Sound good?"

"Whatever," Tim sighed. "Good luck with that."

He walked out of Dr. Lewis' office and sat down in the rec room, with nothing better to do. Avery and Amber approached him. "So, how'd it go?" Avery asked.

"I think that come tomorrow I'm going to be stoned," Tim said flatly. "And if that's how they think they're gonna get me to not kill myself, it won't work."

Amber shook her head. "Honey, the meds are fast-acting, yes, but if you don't have enough serotonin in your brain to begin with, then you won't get stoned, you'll just feel neurotypical. Which is actually a pretty good feeling."

Tim sighed. "I just want to sleep."

"Well I doubt you'll get much of that right now," Avery said. "There were two people led in here earlier, asking around for you. Seems like you've got visitors."


End file.
